Iron Fic: Is This All Real?
by The Chairman
Summary: Contestants had 24 hours to write 1500 words using "Is this all real? Or has this been happening inside my head?" as the secret ingredient.
1. I

It was probably too warm to be sitting with a blanket over his legs, but Ron knew that his choices his mother would give him were this, or lying in bed. He'd spent a week after the battle in the Hospital Wing, before Madame Pomfrey judged him ready to go home, to e tended to by his mother. He'd been home three days, and this day was the first that his mother agreed with him that it was time to get some fresh air. Ginny was also not allowed to fly, even though her ankle had healed just fine, but she was busy running poor Pigwidgeon into the ground sending messages back and forth with Dean Thomas.

The kitchen door swung open, and Hermione walked out into the garden, wearing a lavender sundress, sandals and a straw sunhat and sunglasses. She pulled a chair next to Ron, a footstool in front of the chair, and sat down. Ron strained to look anywhere but at her legs.

"What are you doing here?" asked Ron. "I didn't know you were coming by."

Hermione chuckled. "So that's how we're talking to our friends these days, Ron? I'm happy to see you, too."

"No, I didn't mean that, it's just –"

"Just having you on. Mum said it was silly for me to be cooped up in the house all day, so she suggested I come visit and see how you're getting on. So, how are you getting on?"

"Not bad," Ron replied. "Been a little odd – my dreams are really rather… real, I guess you could say. Last night I dreamt that you and Harry and I had to go save the Maiden from the Warlock with the Hairy Heart. It was like I was right there. We never imagined that the Warlock could be real, but I felt every bit of that battle – spells going overhead, all sickly looking colors, trying to dodge them. I was dead scared, Hermione. You were brilliant, though. Figured out the Warlock's weakness in the end – the heart needed to be broken, and the only way to do that was to lock it in ice with an aguamenti and a freezing spell – and you and I kept the bloody thing busy when Harry got himself into trouble trying to freeze the heart on his own. That speccy git nearly offs himself playing the hero in my dreams, too."

"So, did you kill the Warlock once Harry had finished?" Hermione asked.

"Oh, no. That was Harry, of course. Blasted the Warlock to bits, and carried the girl out of there with his wand in his teeth afterwards, and she gave him a big sloppy kiss at the end."

Hermione smiled. "Aw. Were you jealous, Ron?"

"Oh no, not at all. Right after that, you- er, well… I wasn't jealous, is all. Then I woke up. That's it, end of dream. Oh, and there was the one about Marvin the Muggle, too, but that didn't have you or Harry in it. Neville was travelling with Marvin and I, you see, and neither of us had any idea what a Foot Sea was, but it was rising quickly, so Marvin reckoned we should get to dry land."

"It's not Foot Sea, Ron, it's – oh, never mind. But other than that, you're well, then?"

"Oh yeah, I'm fine. Pomfrey had me all sorted even before I got home, but try telling mum that, right? What about you? That curse Dolohov hit you with looked pretty nasty."

"I'm not bad, all things considered," Hermione said. "Taking ten potions a day does do a number on the stomach, though. I've got them in a bag up in Ginny's room – heavier than my books, if you'd believe it. But if that's the worst that's happened after facing Dolohov, then I guess I can count myself lucky."

"Right," Ron answered, absentmindedly, and the two of them fell into an easy silence, enjoying the early summer sun. After a few minutes, Hermione began to shift in her chair uncomfortably, before getting up to take her midday potions and the nap that inevitably went with those potions. Ron smiled at her as she left, before closing his eyes for a kip of his own.

"Oh, there he is! Sleeping Beauty!" said Molly, as a very sunburned Ron walked into the kitchen. "Are you feeling better, then?" she asked. "I thought I'd – oh my. Get over here young man, and let me take a look at that sunburn you've got yourself. Come now, off with that shirt. Fair as you are, you'll be burnt to a crisp underneath there, too, no doubt."

Ron sighed, rolled his eyes and took off his shirt as requested, as Molly waved her wand around her son, removing the worst of the sunburn.

"There you are, then, right as rain. What did I tell you about going out there without the ointment?"

"Come on, mum, you know that stuff's all greasy. Is Hermione still upstairs? I wanted to see how she's doing."

"Come again, dear?" Molly asked. "Was Hermione supposed to visit this week? She's welcome, of course – we always love to have her – but I don't believe she was expected."

"Well, maybe she just popped over," Ron said. "She was out back in the garden with me right before I dozed off. Said she had to go up to Ginny's room to take her potions and then lie down. Maybe you just missed each other, is all."

Molly tilted her head quizzically. "I was here the whole time you were in the garden, dear. There was no one with you. Maybe you'd like to lie down again. I'll give you a dreamless sleep potion; that should work."

"But mum," Ron protested, "I just finished one nap; I don't need another one."

"Well then, if you're feeling that much better, perhaps you ought to be doing these dishes, and let me have a kip."

Ron huffed and rolled his eyes again. "All right. I'll take the potion."

Molly smiled. "That's my boy. Up you go!"

Three days later, Ron was feeling mostly better. The scars on the sides of his head were fading fast, he wasn't forgetting where he'd laid his wand or his teacup thirty seconds earlier, and by then he only needed one nap during the day. The scent of bacon wafting through the air had called him to breakfast, and fighting off the arms of his brothers and sister, he was able to secure himself a few pieces.

"You're going to need to tidy up your room, Ginny, and change the sheets on the spare bed. Hermione's coming by today – she's going to spend a few weeks with us this summer."

"I thought she wasn't coming until next week, Mum," Ron asked.

"She sent an owl saying that her parents thought it good if she got out of the house and got some fresh air, so she'll be here a few days early, if that's alright with you, Ron," Molly replied with a smirk. Ron nodded and got back to more important things, like the plate of food in front of him.

Hermione was dressed a bit more casually when she arrived than she had been in his dream, but Ron nonetheless found himself staring at her neck a bit more often than he felt comfortable doing, as Hermione had her hair tied back. He helped her with her things, bringing them to Ginny's room.

"You're looking well," she said, as they were walking up to Ron's room.

"Not feeling too bad," he agreed. "Just a bit tired now and again. And the dreams are just much too vivid, y'know? I'll be asleep, doing something in a dream, and totally not know whether it was really happening, or whether I was dreaming. Like a couple of days ago, I'm lying outside, fast asleep, getting sunburnt all to hell, and next thing I know, you walk outside, wearing a dress like you planned for the warm weather, and we're just having this conversation, like. You went upstairs to take your potions, and I woke up a bit later, and Mum told me you weren't there. Odd, don't you think?"

Hermione looked at him, a bit puzzled. "Where was Harry in this?" she asked.

"He wasn't there. Didn't even come up, actually, except when I was telling you about this dream I'd had. Just you and me, having a conversation, kind of like now. Wait. You're real, right?" Ron said, with a grin. "You're not a dream this time, too, are you?"

"Don't you think I'd be showing a bit more leg if this were a dream, Ron?" Hermione asked, smirking.

Ron laughed. "Not fair, Hermione. 'Snot my fault what happens in my dreams. Anyway, so how's your recovery? Still on those potions?"

"Oh Merlin, yes. Down to eight a day though, blessedly. Drives Mum spare that she doesn't know what's in them, but even when I tell her, her eyes start to glaze over. But as long as Madame Pomfrey was the one to prescribe them for me, Mum's okay with that. Dad, of course, gave up trying years ago. I'm pretty sure he's still hoping to wake up from a particularly vivid dream himself, and find me still in primary school."

"Let's just hope that doesn't happen, then," Ron said. "I'd hate to be a casualty of your father's morning alarm."

The two of them talked about school for a bit, gossiping about their fellow Gryffindors (except for Dean Thomas, who Ron said was off-limits to that conversation). They talked about summer reading lists (of which Hermione had already got through half) and gossiped about professors. Hermione left to go unpack her things, and Ron took that opportunity to lie down for a moment before supper.

Ron was a little nervous after waking up, but seeing Hermione at the supper table put his mind at ease, even though he reckoned she'd changed her shirt after getting settled. Ron concentrated on his food while Hermione and Ginny continued a conversation they must have been having upstairs about Dean Thomas.

"Are you alright, Ron?" Hermione asked, as she'd noticed Ron wasn't looking for a second helping. "You seem a bit off tonight."

"I'm fine," he replied. "Just still a bit tired is all. And those brains seem to have done a number on my appetite, too."

Hermione looked at her friend sadly, and grabbed his hand across the table. "You'll be back to normal before you know it," she said. "And if not, well, then I guess Hogwarts will have to start laying off house elves in the kitchens."

Ron squeezed her hand and smiled, which caused Ginny to pantomime gagging.

"Right. You go on for hours, mooning over Dean bloody Thomas, and I can't smile at a friend of mine who's just tried to make me feel better?" Ron said, earning him a swat across the back of his head from Molly's kitchen towel.

"Sorry, Mum."

"Just mind your language, dear," she said. "Now, why don't the three of you go into the sitting room so I can clear up here. I believe Hermione brought over some of her Muggle board games for you to try."

Scrabble was a non-starter for the three of them, as there was no Wizarding dictionary to refer to when there were questions about how many Ms were in Glumbumble. Similarly, Ginny and Ron absolutely refused to believe that Telekinesis was a word at all, especially when Hermione gave them its meaning. Risk was found to be a much better choice; even more so when Ron began to get the hang of it, and started to corner Hermione and Ginny into southern Africa, leaving them unable to fight him on two fronts. They managed to get a game and a half in before the three injured young battle veterans decided to call it a night.

About half an hour after he went to bed, Ron heard a tapping on his bedroom door. Wiping the sleep from his eyes, he got up and opened the door, only to see Hermione standing on the other side, in a housecoat, pajamas and slippers. He smiled, let her in, and grabbed his t-shirt up off the floor before lighting the candle by his bedside.

"Can't sleep?" he asked.

"No. I mean, yes, I – It's complicated."

"Try me," Ron said.

"It's just that – were you really dreaming about me, Ron? I mean, that's something, isn't it? One doesn't ordinarily dream about people one doesn't have a connection to, and, well –"

"Well what?"

"Is that it? I mean, is there a connection there between us? You didn't dream about Harry that way, except when he was slaying monsters and such. But, I mean I've always hoped there was, but-"

"But what?" Ron asked, cutting her off.

"Oh, hell," Hermione swore, before grabbing Ron's face and kissing him deeply.

Ron's eyes grew wide for a brief second, before he realized what was going on. After that, his lips were curling upward into a smile so broad; he found it hard to keep kissing Hermione. Five minutes later he'd begun to get the hang of it, however.

"Oh. Oh dear," Hermione said, after gently breaking away from the kiss. "I don't suppose I really gave you a chance to answer, did I? I mean, certainly you have your eye on someone, and it's not as though you need to –"

Ron grabbed her hands and looked intently into her eyes. "Hermione, I've wanted to do that for so long. You're brilliant. Beautiful, smart – so amazingly smart. And I know I moan about you going on about schoolwork and revising and all, but you do that because you really care about us – about me. If I'm honest, I couldn't imagine anyone I'd rather be kissing in the middle of the night than you."

Hermione smiled broadly, and the two of them leaned into each other to kiss again; Ron's hands becoming entangled in Hermione's brown locks, and her own hands caressing his face gently as they did so.

"I should probably get back to Ginny's room," Hermione said, breathlessly. "This could move a lot faster than either of us are probably ready for."

Wisely, Ron didn't answer that except for a nod and a smile. They kissed each other several times more before finally saying goodnight, and Hermione bounced out of Ron's room, closing the door quietly as she left, Ron watching her the entire way.

"You're in good spirits this morning, Ron," Molly said, as Ron fairly floated downstairs to breakfast; the same goofy grin still plastered on his face from the night before.

'Just a good night's sleep, Mum," he replied, serving himself a bowl of oatmeal from the pot on the stove.

"Well, I hope your appetite's caught up with your sleep, then," Molly said, grabbing two more dishes from the cupboard. "You'll need your strength to recover the rest of the way, you know."

Hermione and Ginny followed shortly, and Ron gave Hermione a broad smile, which she returned before sitting down and tucking into her own breakfast. They talked about plans for the day; Ron managed to convince Molly that it was about time he got back up on a broom, and the subject of chores was even brought up with only a minimal amount of grumbling. Molly sent Ron and Hermione up to their rooms to take their morning potions, while Ginny got started on the gnomes in the garden.

"I really enjoyed that last night, Hermione," Ron said as they got to the landing outside Ginny's room.

"Oh, I'm so glad," Hermione replied. "I was worried that –"

Ron cut her off by kissing her deeply, nearly identically to how he remembered her kissing him the night before. But rather than return the kiss, Hermione gasped, slapped him, and dashed inside Ginny's room, sobbing, closing the door loudly behind her. Ron stood outside that door for several minutes; his mouth open, holding the place where Hermione had hit him, looking for a way to explain. Then, slowly, he climbed up the stairs to his own room.


	2. II

"Mudblood filth, you _will_ tell me where the sword is."

Bellatrix Lestrange twists the dagger, pressing the point into the flesh of Hermione's neck, its tip breaking the skin slightly. Hermione feels a brief chill from the cold metal, then an intense burning as poison seeps into her.

"Never!" she says, feigning more courage than she feels.

"So be it. _Crucio_,"

The pain is unlike anything Hermione has ever felt, a sensation of being flayed alive, skin torn by a thousand jagged tears, acid dribbled into her wounds. She arches her back and screams, thrashing violently. Rivers of pain wash over her and blood runs down the side of her face from a tongue bitten through cleanly.

The Death Eater twists her wand and the pain redoubles. She screams again, louder this time, and begins to choke on blood. Waves of agony break across her consciousness, crashing against her crumbling sanity. Her hold on clarity slackens and long moments pass, reducing the proud Gryffindor to a base thing, mere flesh.

She's unable to draw breath. Only a plaintive whimper escapes her lips.

"_Crucio_."

The curse lashes against her once again and something breaks inside. Her mind fractures, turning in upon itself as it becomes too much to bear.

##

She rouses slowly to bright lights, her mind dull, insensate. Consciousness unfolds slowly, sensations coming piecemeal. It's warm. Her skin is itchy. She feels bruises at her wrists and ankles. The muscles in her lower back are terribly sore. She's wearing a coarse garment open at the back. The ceiling is high and the lights above are fluorescent. She's in the Muggle world. It's daytime. The place smells of antiseptic. There's an IV tube taped to the crook of her left elbow.

"Where am I?" she rasps.

She's lying upon a bed in a four-point restraint, hands and feet held fast by cloth straps. She hears a rustle by her head as someone stands up beside her.

"Jane?" It's a woman's voice, vaguely familiar. Hermoine's eyes are blurry and it takes a few blinks to clear them. When she does, she doesn't quite understand what she sees.

"Lavender?" What is her classmate doing here?

"I'm Janet, Love. We've been through this before?" The woman pats her on the cheek, showing the sort of detached affection that nurses everywhere seem to have. She's older than Lavender by a few years, an older sister perhaps, and her voice is weary, almost bored. She's holding a fashion magazine beneath a clipboard.

Hermione feels a sense of unease as the nurse measures her temperature and blood pressure. Though it seems far away, somehow, she wonders where Harry and Ron are. Are they still trapped at the Malfoy mansion? What of their quest? How did she find herself here?

She clears her throat in an attempt to get the woman's attention. "Please, can you tell me what am I doing here?"

"You don't remember?" The nurse's voice is laced with pity.

"No."

Lavender's clone just hums to herself as she walks to the doorway and presses a button on an intercom.

"Janet here in 311. The patient is awake and coherent, _finally_."

"We'll send the doctor over."

"Can you have her hurry? I need to use the loo."

"I do too," Hermione says. "Can you unfasten me please?"

"That's for the doctor to decide."

"Where am I?"

The woman sighs. "Saint Mungo's Hospital, mental ward. The answer hasn't changed since the last times you've asked."

"But this is the Muggle world."

The nurse ignores her.

There's a knock at the door and then it opens as a short, heavyset woman enters. She has a round face with a wide mouth set in a perpetual scowl. Her hair is grey and trimmed short, ending in loose curls. She has small, dark, sharp eyes.

Hermione gasps. "Madam Umbridge."

The woman looks at Hermione and clicks her tongue in disapproval, looking almost as if expecting something of the sort.

"It looks like we've suffered a bit of a relapse, haven't we dearie?" she says, sitting on the bed beside Hermione and smiling. It's a clinical, predatory smile, cold in its delivery. She turns to the nurse and says, "Put the patient back on thiothixene and ready another IV with haloperidol."

"Doctor?" the nurse says, surprised.

"The patient is clearly still delusional, suffering from acute psychosis. We'll leave her restrained until we know otherwise."

"Right."

"And send an orderly, please. She'll need to be cleaned up. Jake might do." Hermione wonders how invasive this 'cleaning up' will be, especially if done by a man.

As soon as they are alone, the woman turns her sharp eyes onto Hermione, offering her a hand. "Doctor Margaret Huxley. Pleased to make your acquaintance yet again. Oh, I'm sorry. It appears you're rather tied up, aren't you."

"Why am I here and why am I this way?"

"I know you hate to be restrained like this, but we simply had no choice, dear. I'm afraid you were hurting yourself and we can't have that."

"I don't understand."

She pats Hermione's head condescendingly. "Of course you don't. You were too busy shouting about 'dark wizards' or some such and fell into a screaming fit."

Hermione feels confused, her thinking slow and imprecise, not at all like the laser-like focus she's used to.

"Are you feeling up to answering a few questions?"

Hermione looks back at the woman suspiciously. The doctor takes a pen from the breast pocket of her coat.

"Can you please tell me your name?"

"Why?"

"Well, because I'm the doctor and you're the patient." The woman's high-pitched voice is unnaturally pleasant and Hermione has the feeling she's being spoken to like she's a tot.

"I don't trust you," Hermione says. She'd fold her arms if she weren't tied down.

"I don't expect you to, dear, but I do expect you to answer me without too much fuss. It would be such a pity to have to leave you like this until tomorrow."

"Fine. Hermione Jean Granger."

The woman writes something down, not looking at Hermione.

"And your parents?"

Hermione pauses for a moment, waiting until the doctor looks up at her, annoyed. "Steven and Emily Granger. Dentists."

"Where do you live?"

Another pause. "Coventry."

"Hmm," the doctor says, writing.

"And how old are you?"

"Eighteen."

"Where did you go to school?"

Hermione turns aside.

"I asked you where you went to school."

"I'm sorry," she says, turning away.

"Would it be fair to say the answer is still 'Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?'" the woman asks sweetly. "I thought so."

Hermione purses her lips and continues to look away. The woman continues to write on her clipboard.

There's another knock at the door and an orderly enters. He has dark hair and is dressed in a blue uniform with a plastic ID badge clipped to the pocket of his shirt. It reads, 'Jake Dixon,' and has a laminated photo of a bespectacled man.

He looks at Hermione and she recognizes him.

"Harry?"

##

"I need to get out of here," she says, repeating the mantra that has driven her for weeks now. Her slender arms wrap about her body and she rocks back and forth on her bed, the springs creaking rhythmically.

She's dreadfully bored, as the place has been intentionally made devoid of stimulus, just another of the litany of cruelties she's made to suffer at the hands of the "good" Doctor Huxley. Hermione wonders at the woman's motivations, whether there's an underlying purpose or whether she's just evil.

The Bitch, of course, had taken her books and newspapers, even her notebooks and crayons, as they've continued their battle of wills, leaving her nothing to do, no means of occupying the long tedium between medications.

It's even more maddening to know that the woman is winning, that Hermione has been adapting slowly to the restrictions, learning to live within their confines, learning to play the reward-punishment game.

It's dark outside, past midnight, and only a square of silvery light shines in from the parking lot outside. The wall opposite the window is illuminated in a cross-hatch of squares and will remain until six twenty am, when the mercury lamps turn off. Hermione finds herself staring at the squares of light, listening to the quiet ticking of the clock and the unsettled frenzy of a mental hospital at night, slumbering madness punctuated by the occasional screams.

Her own had joined them that evening. Another late-night visit, as she was held down and violated. She feels like vomiting.

It was the Bitch's doing. It had to be. Nothing happens in this place without her say.

She finds herself wishing desperately for release-even a return to the Malfoy's dungeons would be preferable to this aimless existence. Before, she at least had purpose, not this slow strangulation, every day losing a bit more of Hermione Granger to the humdrum plainness of Jane Wilkins, dutiful, if not so bright daughter of Wendell and Monica.

Most painful, perhaps, is that the orderly wearing the face of her best friend has made a point of avoiding her.

"Dammit, Harry. Why won't you help me?"

##

"Are you going to eat that?" The voice is airy and belongs to a blonde girl her age with stringy hair and large, pale eyes. The girl is new and looks emaciated, as if she's been living on the streets. Her skin is pallid and she has tracks of needle marks running up the insides of both of her arms.

There's sadness about her, but also a sense of kinship.

Luna.

By now Hermione has learned to stop saying the names of those from her former world. It only brings pain. And then more punishment.

"Go ahead," she chokes out, offering the wheat roll to the girl. Truth be told, she's long ago lost her appetite.

"I remind you of someone, don't I?"

Hermione nods, finding herself unable to take her eyes off the other girl.

"What was her name?"

"Luna," she whispers.

"I can be Luna for you," the girl says, smiling brightly. She stands and kisses Hermione on the forehead. "It'll almost be like having a friend."

##

"We love you, dear. We always have." Mum or _Monica_ hugs Hermione again, showing a clinginess that Hermione doesn't recall from her life before. Every hug hurts Hermione a bit more inside, stirring guilt at remembering what she had done to her real parents those months ago.

"I know, Mum," she says, hating herself for using the appellation.

"Don't worry about the rustication," _Wendell_ says. "The Dean says you can return next term-if you're well, that is. They say it also happened to John Milton and Oscar Wilde, so you're in good company, right honey?"

"Wendell!" Hermione's mum says, scolding her husband. "We agreed that we wouldn't talk about—"

"Look, Janey did her best and she's a good girl. She knows we're proud of her, no matter what happens. She'll always be our little girl, and we love her."

The Bitch is present—she always is when her parents visit—and she nods in satisfaction at this display. Hermione knows the man's putting on an act, though, pretending to be the doting, supportive father that society expects of him. But she also knows she'll never truly please him.

Some things are the same, no matter what world one finds oneself.

##

Snow collects softly upon the sill outside her window and the world beyond is cold and colorless, a contrast in greys, much like the world inside. It's been a year and she barely remembers who she was, narcotic cocktails having washed away a life of magic and wonder. And friendship.

"Gryffindor courage," she whispers to herself, steeling for a final attempt at freedom. She must leave this place, no matter what the cost.

##

"Ma'am, please, I can't be alone with patients like this. They'll sack me for sure."

"Just stay for just a bit, please?"

"I'm really sorry, ma'am, but I can't." The orderly pushes her away.

She clings to him. "No! Don't go! I see how you look at me, Harry. You want me, don't you. You want to have me like the others have had me."

"I'm Jake, not Harry, and I can't stay, ma'am, no matter how much I might like to."

As he says this, he looks around, as if to see if anyone is watching them. She knows then that she has him.

Some minutes later, he finishes in her mouth and she finds it warmer and a little saltier than she'd imagined.

"I love you, Harry," Hermione says as she watches him race off.

He's sacked that evening, though not for being with her, as they'd taken pains to avoid discovery, but rather for losing his security badge.

##

Stolen badge in hand, Hermione races across the roadway, freed at last. She's barefoot in the snow and she tries to flag down a passing auto.

There's a loud horn and bright lights. A lorry skids sideways toward her and she doesn't even have time to scream.

##

"Hermione?" Harry's voice is pained. He's holding her tenderly to his chest.

"I'm going to bloody kill Lestrange," Ron says. "I don't care what it takes, I swear it Harry."

"You and me both, Ron."

Though she's shivering, the after-effects of the _Cruciatus_, Hermione feels warm and loved. She smiles as she stirs, wondering for the moment what is real and what isn't. And deciding that it doesn't matter in the end.


End file.
